


Undercover

by glyphsbowtie



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Pre-Slash, Protectiveness, Steve is a little bundle of righteousness, undercover cop Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 14:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17225726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glyphsbowtie/pseuds/glyphsbowtie
Summary: Steve Rogers says these words in a matter-of-fact tone that has Bucky nodding for a second, before he catches himself. “Wait- what? You're going to kick his ass?”The tiny man next to him nods. “I don't like bullies,” he shrugs. “Anyway, I thought I would let you know because I would hate for you to get hurt.”“Gee, thanks.” Bucky is staring in absolute shock at this adorable vigilante. “Um, has it not occurred to you to call the police, pal?”





	Undercover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sgtbucketbarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgtbucketbarnes/gifts).



> For the Marvel Holiday Swap :)

“He's not here,” Bucky mumbles into the mouthpiece on his collar. He's staring deliberately ahead, watching the game on the screen behind the bar.

“He's supposed to be there,” his captain snaps into the earpiece.

“I'm aware. But he isn't.” Bucky takes a slow, deep mouthful of the beer he's been nursing for forty minutes.

“Give it ten more minutes,” comes the order.

Bucky sighs. He looks casually around the bar, which is quiet. There's nobody else here apart from the friendly woman who served him and the small guy bent over a sketchbook in the corner.

As if on cue, the small guy looks up and catches Bucky's eye. He's cute; he's got a handsome, smooth face with two of the brightest blue eyes Bucky's ever seen. He offers Bucky a soft smile before bending back over his sketching.

Bucky clicks his tongue thoughtfully, watching the way his delicate hands move over the paper. If he wasn't on duty, he'd head over there and ask to see what the little feller is drawing. Purely innocently, of course; Bucky tries hard to push away thoughts about that one errant piece of golden hair which has fallen loose in a gentle curl across the man's forehead.

The man looks up again, and a crease appears between his lovely eyes as he makes eye contact with Bucky once more. He appears to hesitate, then snaps the sketchbook closed and stands up, approaching Bucky.

Bucky blinks. Shit. He's an undercover cop. He can't be engaging in the sort of flirtatious conversation he'd like to have with this man. He tries to decide what to do, but he's caught in the blue gaze of the artist. He's very short and slight, the artist, lovely and delicate in a fragile way. Bucky feels a surge of protectiveness rise up, and tells himself it's just his awesome police instincts.

“You might want to get out of here,” the artist tells him solemnly.

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “Really?” he asks, trying not to smile.

“Yeah.” The artist sits down on the stool next to Bucky, his pale fingers curled around his sketchbook. He is still staring at Bucky. “The drug guy- Damien Delaware- he'll be in any second.”

That's interesting information, because Damien Delaware is exactly the man Bucky is here to arrest. He feels a stab of concern. Is this little guy in league with Delaware? That would be a shame. “Might I ask how you know that? You don't look like a drug guy yourself.”

The man snorts. “My name's Steve Rogers. I know because I'm going to kick his ass until he agrees to let old Mrs Peterson- she's my neighbour- live in her house without having to pay protection money.”

Steve Rogers says these words in a matter-of-fact tone that has Bucky nodding for a second, before he catches himself. “Wait- what? You're going to kick his ass?”

The tiny man next to him nods. “I don't like bullies,” he shrugs. “Anyway, I thought I would let you know because I would hate for you to get hurt.”

“Gee, thanks.” Bucky is staring in absolute shock at this adorable vigilante. “Um, has it not occurred to you to call the police, pal?”

Steve shrugs. “They never do anything to help people like me and Mrs Peterson,” he says simply.

Bucky feels a pang of shame.

“Anyway, you'd best get out of here,” Steve says.

Bucky swallows. “Maybe you should get out of here. I'll deal with Delaware. I'm probably better in a fight than you are.”

“You mean because I'm an artist?” Steve asks, sounding offended.

Bucky can't hold his laugh in. “No, because you're half my size, punk,” he says fondly. He  _ likes _ this weird little guy.

Steve Rogers looks at him like he's stupid. “So?” he asks.

The door opens, revealing the enormous, hulking shape of Delaware. Bucky has studied enough photographs of this ugly guy to be able to recognise him anywhere.

“Delaware!” Steve snaps, rising to his full, less than impressive height.

The drug lord glares at him, taking a step closer. “Rogers? Ain't you the puny little shit that lives next door to old Peterson?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “And I've come to tell you to stop charging her protection money, you absolute  _ asshole.” _

Bucky and Delaware both raise their eyebrows, sharing a moment of shock at the language coming from the pretty little mouth of Steve Rogers.

“I'm going to fucking kick your ass, you little shit,” Delaware snarls, proving that his reaction to Steve is quite the opposite of Bucky's.

He strides across the bar towards Steve; he's about six inches taller than Bucky and ridiculously wide. Steve looks like a doll in front of him. But he still balls his fists.

Bucky rolls his eyes. He stands up.

“Get back,” hisses Steve. “You're going to get hurt.”

Bucky steps in between them. “Delaware, I'm Sergeant James Barnes of the NYPD. I'm here to arrest you for drug trafficking offences.”

Delaware doesn't stop coming; he throws his enormous fist at Bucky, who side steps it easily and grabs his wrist, twisting up behind him and wrestling the enormous man to the floor. Reaching beneath his leather jacket, Bucky pulls out his cuffs and slaps them on. Delaware glares hatefully up at him.

“Got him,” Bucky says into the mouthpiece.

Ten seconds later, the bar is crawling with police officers. Delaware is hauled off, and Bucky finds himself staring at Steve Rogers, who is still standing with his hands curled into fists.

“Oh,” says Steve.

“Oh,” repeats Bucky, rolling his eyes. “You could have gotten yourself killed, you little punk.”

Steve glares at him. “I don't like bullies,” he repeats.

“Nor do I,” Bucky replies. “You're an idiot, but you've got balls.”

Steve looks surprised by the compliment, but a smile twists up his mouth. “Thanks, Sergeant.”

“No problem. And call me Bucky, please.” Bucky wonders if it would be unprofessional to ask for this guy's number. Probably. “You can go back to your sketching now.”

Steve goes a little pink. “I can't. My model is about to leave, Bucky.”

Bucky blinks, realising what Steve means. Steve opens his sketchbook to reveal a drawing of Bucky, sitting at the bar in his leather jacket. It's  _ amazing. _

“Why were you drawing me?” Bucky asks. He feels his cheeks burning.

“You're pretty.” Steve shrugs. “You know, for a cop.”

Bucky swallows. He makes a decision. “Well, I'm more than happy to be your model tomorrow night, if you're free.”

Steve smiles. “I'd like that.”


End file.
